Life after Suicide
by Simplistic Magpie
Summary: Pete discovers that quitting life early only angers the fates. Now as punishment, he will have to experience two days for every one. The first will be as though his hanging attempt failed, and the second will be as a ghost seeing what his absence has caused. [Lots of pairings, both standard and a little less found. Will include boys with girls, boys with boys, and girls with girls]
1. You've Pissed off the Fates

Life after Suicide

Prologue

You've Pissed off the Fates

* * *

Despite the intense light flooding through, the stout figure standing a few yards off cast no shadow. Pete wasn't sure where they were. He couldn't even tell if they were in a room or not. Could the glaring white engulfing them be considered walls and floors? It all lacked texture, almost as if they were simply inside a color and nothing else. Two doodles drawn in the middle of a blank page.

With nothing to lose (a dull stab of a feeling), he stepped closer to the person. Their beady eyes were obviously tracking him. Well, as obvious as they could be with that black mop of hair hanging in their squashed face. Due to their surroundings, the probable dye job was made all the more potent. _"Oh great, it's one of those Goth kids I've read about." _Pete thought to himself. _"Just what I need, another ungrateful stuck-up clique." _A scowl flashed across the stranger's pug-like face, as if they'd read his mind and were displeased with the label. If that was somehow true, they said nothing to debate it.

Kowalski felt itchy. He began to hate the studious stare. The silent eyes judged him. And he deserved it too. He knew that he'd done something terribly awful, yet he could not remember exactly what.

"That would be your decision to hang yourself," the stranger spoke for the first time. Their voice was a lot lighter than he imagined it would be, a bit childlike even. It felt so out of element to the rest of the package that he couldn't even register the actual words they'd spoken. He'd been half hoping that the voice would convince him one way or another about the person's gender. The lack of curves in their body had him leaning towards male, but that could have been attributed to their dark baggy clothes. Taking a page from Gord, Pete tried harder to examine what they were wearing, but when he tried to make out a t-shirt or jeans or any other recognizable article, his eyes grew fuzzy. Closely studying the person was like trying to capture that wormlike squiggle in your vision.

"I didn't think that gender mattered all that much to you, _Petey." _They dragged out his unwanted nickname as though it would hurt him. He'd felt too far for too long to be stung by names anymore.

Still, he wanted to know what in the world they were talking about. "What?" The strangled way his voice choked the simple word out surprised him. Pete hadn't felt particularly scared by the mysterious setting, more paranoid and confused if anything. To his own ears, he sounded as if he'd been frozen in fear for years though.

"You know how you are when you watch those dirty little movies on your laptop in the middle of the night. Never can decide which person to keep your sight on, can you?"

Not surprisingly, he felt the cartilage of his ears grow hot. Jimmy would have decked the guy (or girl), and Gary would have drawn blood in one way or another. Unfortunately, he was nothing like his sort of friends. He couldn't even get out a snippy comment about it not being any of their business. Instead, he stood there in silence for several moments, allowing himself to scratch his arm.

"So, uh, I don't suppose I'm in a dream or anything like that?" His voice still came strained. The other person shook their head with a smirk. "Could you maybe tell me what's going on?"

"What pushed you over the edge? I replayed your last day, your last week even, several times now and I still don't know what finally broke."

It was like he was in one of those cheaply budgeted movie scenes; the dialogue was going over his head and he was embarrassed to have to admit it. "I-I don't really know what's happening here."

"You killed yourself. I'm mildly curious as to why. They've had me on your sappy life's watch for years, and I just don't understand why you chose to end it when you did. I saw you through the weeds. That time with your leg, your parents' nasty separation, the endless teasing…" They trailed off, lost in thought. The smirk left their face, but they didn't look particularly upset with reviewing what Pete considered to be his worst memories. Even when he went through his periods of being numb, thinking back on some days would still make him squeeze his eyes shut to hold back a tear or two. "Anyways, why'd you do it? I thought I was finally going to be pulled off your case, things were looking good, and then you have to go and quit." They clucked their tongue.

Some meaning was beginning to sink through. "I killed myself?" Finally, he sounded normal again. The thought didn't bother him much, although he did wish he could remember if it was true or not. Suicide was something that he'd mildly fantasized for years. He used to just brush it off, figuring himself to be too much of a coward to go through with it.

"Yes, you did. Thanks for finally getting with the program here."

It was almost a pleasant thought. Not having to wake up with a tiny prick of dread every morning. He wouldn't have to think about his father's disappointment anymore or whether it was wrong of him to miss his old tormentor.

"Don't you dare go gloating on your choice!" the stranger spat out. Pete jumped at their sudden venom. "You've pissed off the Fates and now I have to go through this whole spiel again."

"The fates?" He was reminded of the cartoon movie _Hercules_, and then he quickly had to push back the memory of being dragged out of the theater because Cerberus had scared him to the point of crying.

"Yes. Life is their game and they just can't stand when people quit it early. So I get stuck having to babysit losers like you through punishments."

Pete sucked in a quick breath, surprised that it burned his throat. "I'm getting punished?" Thoughts rapidly built up in his head. _"Oh geeze! I only heard of that in the bible—I didn't really think Christianity was real. I'm going to Hell! I couldn't even handle Bullworth, how can I be sent to Hell?"_

The person shrugged. "I don't know much about Christianity or any religions really. I don't know what the real afterlife is; my only knowledge is what the Fates implemented in me. For all I know, what you people call Hell exists and you'll end up there if you fail. Or maybe there's nothing at all. It doesn't concern me."

"Fail at what? What's going to happen to me?"

Letting out a long dejected sigh, the person went on to say, "Because they can't stand people quitting, my bosses decided that everyone who offs themselves like you gets a second chance. But only if you make it through your penalty." A second chance at life didn't sound exactly appetizing, but it did come off better than Hell. Peter opened his mouth, which caused the person to bark "Don't interrupt me!" at him.

Going through a lengthy explanation about having to atone and viewing what his absence would do to those close to him, the dark person spoke in a mostly robotic tone. That coupled with his constant battle of keeping his panic down made Pete miss out on most of what they were saying. "For every one day, you will live two." If he thought about it rationally, he would have found the whole premise ridiculous. That wasn't happening though. Instead, he fretted and itched at his neck.

"I'll be the Virgil to your Dante."

The person stopped speaking and returned to studying him silently. From nowhere in particular on their hazy body, they pulled out a flat purple rope. It looked familiar and Pete instantly felt sick in his gut. "Since you're clearly not paying attention, let's just get this game on with." Their mouth opened into a forced grin that displayed their inhumanly tiny teeth. An old farmer's sickle with a rusting blade appeared in their hand. Pete thought that something might have been engraved on the splintering handle, but he didn't have enough time to be certain. They cut the rope in one slick move and all the white turned to nothing. He had the sensation of falling backwards, followed by a quick chill and then nothing.

* * *

Peter Kowalski felt a pinch of relief mixed in with his regular dread as he hiccupped himself awake. His first thought was that he'd experienced the strangest dream of his life. He noticed that his dorm room mattress was much stiffer than normal. And then he heard an edged laugh that was all too familiar.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I'm not exactly sure what made me decide to write this, other than the fact that I like to have two projects going at once. I am in no way trying to glamorize suicide, nor am I attempting to make light of it. My intention is not for this fic to be all about the topic of suicide either. Instead, it will focus on the lives of our favorite boarding school students.

Part of me is thinking I should have just had Petey been involved in an accident or something instead.

Lastly, I reserve the right to change the rating.

Thanks to anyone reading this!


	2. There's No Place like Happy Volts

Chapter One

There's No Place like Happy Volts

It didn't take long for Peter to realize that he was lying on top of a cot versus his normal twin-size bed. The rubbery material gripped uncomfortably against the exposed skin of his lower back where his starchy pajama top had ridden up. A mad chuckling sounded again, forcing him to sit up and look at his unfamiliar surroundings. He was in a small room, not unlike a prison cell with its grey color scheme and lack of, well, pretty much everything but the cot on which he had been snoozing. What made the room different from a cell was the fact that it had a plain old wooden door. It was lucky too, because if it had been bars instead, the gangly psychopath leaning against it would have probably looked quite awkward.

"Gare!" Pete exclaimed, unable to tell which rung out clearer: distress or delight.

A cruel grin spread slowly on his lips. Kowalski remembered it well. It was what Gary had looked like when he was out in the school during the day, scheming. If only it could have been that sweet fast smile he used to get when it was the two of them alone in the barely lit common room. Those days were gone though. _"He'll never forgive me for siding with Jim."_

"So Femme, the rumor birds really were squawking the truth," he paused for an uncontrolled giggle. Then his voice switched into the tone one reserved for a plump baby or new puppy. "You tried to take your poor wittle wife! Oh! And what a big surprise, you even messed that up."

"W-What are you doing here?" he asked, trying to convey a nonchalant attitude and failing miserably. He wasn't even a hundred percent sure where they were.

"Don't ask idiotic questions!" Gary snarled. "You and that fathead king put me here!" He calmed himself a bit before speaking up again. Slowly, methodically, he brought one of his thin hands up to his neck, tracing a line across it. "I see you tried to go out the way you lived, like a pussy."

Pete's hands flew up to his own throat, not fully believing that he would be able to feel anything even if it were there. But he could. A few small spots were rough and scratchy, stinging a bit when he touched them, but there was also an unnatural streak of slickness. He jumped to his feet. If they really were where he feared they might be, then there wouldn't be a mirror in the room. That didn't stop him from feverishly scanning wall to wall though.

The smaller teenager thought that something might have sparked in Gary's sharp eyes. Concern maybe? That was just him fantasizing though. "What's your malfunction, Femme? I worked hard to get here and gloat in your face; don't ruin it with an episode." That didn't halt Pete from frantically using one hand to pull at his unfamiliar clothes, while keeping the other tightly clasped around his neck. Why would he be there? In a room with a rubbery mattress with no sheets or blankets. "Come on Petey, you're beginning to look as though you actually belong here!"

He needed to get to a mirror and see that this was all a mistake! Someone was surely just playing a prank on him. Images from his recent surreal memories of the all-white bubble world passed through his head. _"How could anyone have set that up?" _The small room, although chilly enough to make his bare feet ache on the cement floor, started to get downright stifling. It wasn't big enough. Even skinny Gary was taking up too much room. Pete needed out! "How did you get in here?"

Smith cocked a brow. "Through the door?" Peter didn't take more than a second after the words were out to shove the taller boy out of the way; he'd have time later to worry about the consequences of such an action. He bolted out the door and into a strange hallway. Everything, which did not include much, appeared to be in a grey haze. It was as if the setting had been used in a black and white film and had forgotten to take off half its makeup. He didn't give himself a moment to think over what a stupid thought that was.

"Bathroom!" he blurted to the psycho who had followed him into the hallway.

Instead of giving him directions, Gary led the way to the single person washroom. It too felt dusty, closed in. Pete didn't care right then though. He charged onto the dirty tile floor and up to the large grimy mirror. He tilted back his neck and angled his head several ways to get the best look. Through the glass, he could see Gary standing against the back wall, watching him in mild bemusement. Peter could also see the pinkish white streak going across the paled olive skin of his neck. It puckered in some spots, still scabby in others. _"Oh crap!" _he thought, an uncomfortable sweat beginning to trace down his back. _"No no no no! I can't go around with this. Will it ever go away?"_

"You're all prettied up like me, Petey. Only I got mine from something truly awesome, not throwing a hissy fit."

* * *

Pete eerily noticed that many more voices carried through the littered air than there were bodies in the asylum cafeteria. Other than that haunting observation, he felt the breakfast closely mirrored the ones from Bullworth. Sitting so close to the edge of a table that half his butt hung off the bench, he nudged some kind of oat slop around with a bent spoon. A balding man with a heavy middle chowed down directly next to him, despite the table being nearly empty. Gary was the only other person seated with him. Just like at school (before he was forcibly removed), he kept five seats away from Kowalski. In the public eye, even if the public was just a bunch of mentally unwell people, Gary liked to present the image that he'd never been friendly with the usually pink-shirted dork. Sharing a meal together was much too revealing.

A few orderlies and a nurse patrolled the mostly empty cafeteria. They stood tall and prideful like the prefects that had once made life miserable for all the students of Bullworth. Having been head boy for at least four months of the new school year, Peter had finally tamed them some. He'd been their boss of sorts after all. He held no power over these guard dogs though, but went back into his submissive shell without a beat. A particularly fearsome man, knuckles as big as Pete's face decorated with hairs that looked sharp enough to cut, strolled close by. Kowalski kept his eyes adverted. A hand absently rushed to his neck, covering his new shame. "So what made you go bonkers, Femme?" Gary flicked the question at him, barely glancing in his direction.

"Nothing," he mumbled. "I'm not crazy."

Just then, the image of a dark haired teenager with a compressed face flickered into view next to Gary. If Smith had seen it, he kept quiet. Most likely, Petey really was going insane, because it was gone the next moment.

"I bet it was because you missed me so much. That's right, isn't it? Couldn't remember my doe eyes and curvaceous body well enough to fantasize anymore, so you had to come refill your pitcher."

"What are you even talking about Gary?"

"Come on, I'll let you ogle me," he said through a dark smile. "I wouldn't want you to run out of juice for tonight. There really is only one thing for lonely boys like you to do around here."

Petey went back to concentrating on his sticky food. _"Don't let him get you worked up anymore. He's just a bully."_

"Petey… Petey?" Gary had given up his façade of pretending not to know him. In fact, his voice was getting pretty loud. "You're gonna hurt my feelings if you don't answer me Femme!"

In a feeble kind of exasperation, Pete asked, "What do you want?"

Gary got to his feet and jumped up onto the laminate bench. "You've really changed since I've been locked up! Did you find yourself another man? Is it big ol' Jim? You cheating on me with that fatass!" By the end of his ramble, Gary was shouting. Flustered orderlies flocked around him, silently arguing over who would grab the psycho first. Pete dared to make eye contact with the boy he once tried to call his friend. He didn't see any sort of animosity, all he could find was an inwardly laugh. This was a joke to him, but why?

"_He's going this far just to embarrass me?"_

It was when Gary had taken his plastic bowl and threw it to the ground that Giant Knuckles tackled him to the table and pulled his arms behind his back. Gary looked at Pete and smiled at him in the way that kids do when they share secrets in the corner of the classroom during reading time.

"We shoulda never let you outta Block C!" the orderly barked.

"It only took me three weeks to convince these imbeciles to spring me," Gary called as they started marching him away. A haggard nurse followed after them, readying a syringe. "I'll check on you—" Pete heard Gary shout before they closed a heavy door. The few patients sitting around all stared at him, some with disgust, but most with a dimmed curiosity.

* * *

After breakfast Pete and the rest of the breakfast gang were herded through the halls and out into the freezing courtyard. He imagined that it was nearly nice during the other three seasons. Snow piled heavily on top of the naked trees and all the lawn was blanketed. He slipped on the zipperless marshmallow coat that had been thrust into his arms on his way out the armed doors. It helped some, but couldn't completely ease the fact that he, like the rest of the patients, were wearing the pajama-like scrubs. The others appeared not to care about that though. Several, including a young woman raving about her missing purple goose, ran through the snow to the fence. It clanged each time one of their bodies stopped against it. The rest casually trudged around, some playing with snow and others grumbling in small groups. Pete kept to the covered cement area by the door, eventually resigning himself to sitting on a cold, but mostly dry, spot. If he looked through the meshed window on the door he could see the orderly assigned to watching them. The closest patients to him discussed their need for smokes.

Peter exhaled slowly with his eyes closed. He imagined his breath coming out in the heavy curls. A biting wind came through strong with only the few spread out trees to slow it. "Looks like you're really taking advantage of your second chance." He jumped when he heard the childish voice. Partially against his will, he pried his eyelids apart. Sure enough, the stranger that talked of fates was sitting next to him.

"You're real?" Peter groaned.

"This is certainly one of the more colorful first days back I've witnessed, I'll give you that. I didn't even realize places like this still existed. At least, not this severe."

He returned to having his eyes shut, finding it easier to keep his breathing steady. It was too late in the day for him to simply be dreaming anymore, although he mused whether or not to forcibly buy such a lie. On the tops of the knees he pulled to his chest, Petey crossed his arms and leaned forward to hide his mouth against them. "Nobody can see you except for me, right?"

"Correct! Rotting your brain with all that television wasn't a complete waste of life I see."

"What's going on here?"

"Exactly what I tried to explain to you before, back when you were dead. You weren't paying attention, remember?" He could nearly hear the person (thing?) smirk. "I'm your guide, of sorts, on this lackluster journey of your new life. Fates want me to keep an eye on you, make sure you don't get too overwhelmed."

"_You've done a great job of it so far."_

"I tried to check in on you earlier, but you were… preoccupied with your friend. The crazy one."

At that point, Peter wasn't surprised that the being seemed to actually be able to read his mind. If all of this was really happening, he might as well try to take it with some sort of stride. And telepathy would help to make him appear less insane. _"That was Gary. He's not my friend. At least, I don't think he is."_

"You'd be surprised," they tossed at him. "He is unhinged though. Almost belongs in a place like this."

"_Like me?"_

"A few weeks in this lawsuit-waiting-to-happen institution isn't so bad. You _were _dead, remember? Anyways, it'll be okay. You've already survived three weeks of forced winter recess, you can get through what's left of today."

"_Three weeks?"_

"Oh, did I not tell you? It's almost been a month since your botched attempt. Things were pretty bland around here, and I didn't want to run a higher risk of you trying to off yourself again (that would be bad for both of us), so I just plopped you in on your last day."

"_It's like starting a book on the third chapter."_

"Kind of. I could fill you in on anything you've missed, if you want. I could tell you what'll happen tomorrow too, but I won't."

The cold was starting to really gnaw at his behind. Icy stabs started up his tailbone and along his spine. _"How long do they keep us out here?"_

They chuckled. "You really go for the deep stuff, huh? They usually stick you guys out here for twenty minutes or so. Believe it or not, but the lifelong residents actually get upset if they don't get to muck around in the yard every day, no matter the weather."

"_Did I miss anything important?" _His stomach started to cramp up sharply. Kowalski didn't know how much more of this insanity he could swallow in one dose.

"Well, let's see what I can remember. There was the trip to the hospital, although I skipped most of that. Those places creep me out. You made your mother cry and your father snap at her for it. And then he cried. After that your folks agreed to let the doctors ship you off here for therapy and adjusting. I don't mind your shrink. You've only met with her five or six times though. Mostly, you've been staying to yourself, eating the slop and going wherever you're schlepped."

"_Like every other day of my life then."_

A sound croaked out like they were going to say something and then stopped. A pause passed before they spoke up again. "If you're going to be a bucket of sunshine like this, then I'll just leave you to it. I don't need to be present to observe you anyways."

Of course he wasn't being a peach! He'd been given the most disturbing news of his life, followed by the strangest (and least comfortable) day, and less than twenty-four hours to process it. He had plenty of questions in his head and the only thing that could answer them was the one he felt was at least partially to blame for his predicament. Pete opened his eyes, expecting the see the squished face and offer a feeble apology which he wouldn't really mean. They weren't there when he looked though. Poofed to wherever the heck they came from. Back to the Fates? Peter found himself laughing at the absurdity of it.

When the orderlies called them inside, he still had a bit of a smile. It was stuck like spinach in teeth. The grin remained while he attempted to ingest a stiff stale sandwich and while he stared through a foggy window in the 'games' room. The first time it slipped was when he caught a glance at an abandoned looking corridor. Age had corroded away chunks of the concrete slab and several spots in the walls were down to just boards. There weren't even any light fixtures, just bare bulbs hanging. He found it hard to imagine that anyone could be forced to live down there, especially Gary.

His mind was still on the slim boy when he rested his head back onto his uncomfortable cot. What was with Gary? That was the question, like dozens of other nights, that remained flittering through his head while he finally fell asleep.


	3. Losing Some of Your Senses

Chapter Two

Losing Some of Your Senses

* * *

Somehow the slightly familiar room appeared different. Poorly lit, cleaned even worse, and just as miserable as the day before, he couldn't pinpoint the difference at first. Then it hit him. He was simply seeing it from a different angle! That was all. A higher vantage point. One that would certainly be unobtainable for him naturally. Pete let out a cry when he fully realized he was looking down into the room from a ceiling corner. Something about looking downwards flooded his arm in goose bumps.

It didn't take long for him to settle to the floor. Peter didn't even get the chance to voice his confusion. He had watched his sockless feet touch down onto the cold looking floor, but he hadn't felt them push against it. And when they touched (or when he assumed they did) they fuzzied out for half a second. He tapped a foot down and watched it happen again. Repeating this action again and again, a bit more forceful each time, until he was slamming his toes down, he came to the conclusion that he couldn't feel anything. The room had been chilly before, but now there was no temperature affecting him whatsoever. And when he nervously rubbed his tongue across the fronts of his teeth, he couldn't taste any of the goobers that formed while he slept.

"No touch, no taste…" he mused aloud. A sigh of relief (a strange lazy wave in his upturned ocean of anxiety) exited his body. He could hear his voice. At least, he was pretty sure he could. It could have just been his internal voice he was hearing, he supposed.

After a bit of spazzing out in his head, he came to understand that all of it had to do with the strange person who had supposedly allowed him to live. It was a shame he hadn't been able to concentrate on the rules they had tried to give him. Pete mumbled a curse, aimed mostly at him but the pug faced teenager (or youthful adult perhaps) as well. They had come the other day to settle him down, why weren't they standing next to him when something was seriously wrong?

"Okay Pete, okay. Just breathe," he ordered himself when his breaths started to shallow with increased speed. "Just try to remember. What did they say?" To help his concentration, he closed his eyes. Only, there was not a black world with the occasional storm of red from his eyelids. He blinked slowly. There was no disturbance of his vision. Peter could tell himself to shut his eyes all he wanted, but the world around him never disappeared.

A far away pain started to speed into his head. Stress headaches normally made his stomach knot even worse, but at that moment, he welcomed it. It felt nice to feel something in the strange still world he awakened in. He concentrated on the pressure building behind his eyeballs for what could have very well been two minutes or an hour. There was no window in the room for his to judge the time of day by, if there even was time wherever he was.

When he finally calmed himself enough to get back to the situation at hand, Pete started by thinking back to that dreamlike experience in the white bubble. That person (thing?) had said something strange. Well, comparatively strange. Something about a punishment. "Two days for every one?" That could have been it; a very effective reprimand for someone wanting to die. Pride swelled through him for his memory. Until he realized he hadn't a clue what it meant.

Although he hadn't experienced his three weeks there, he really felt tired of his stuffy room. Pete decided to walk around the halls for a while, hopefully jarring some other pieces of the conversation loose. When he reached for the flat doorknob, he watched his hand go through it without disturbance. "You know, I'm not even surprised," he muttered.

True, he had just witnessed himself go through the solid knob like nothing, he still anxiously held his breath while dipping past the actual door. The hallway from before filled his vision. Faintly, as if it were coming through thin material, he could hear footsteps coming from his right. Knuckles stomped by, almost passing through Kowalski if he had not jumped back in time. Sure, he'd gotten through the door, but he didn't want that orderly in him.

Unending sights and muffled sounds. That's all he got from several laps around the A Block.

Not recalling anything more (and having boredom mix into his nerves), Peter crossed into the B Block. He noted that it was almost exactly the same as A. Several people passed him, though none seemed to be able to see him. He even called out to a twenty-something woman who'd raved about her imaginary goose the day before.

He spent some time outside, slightly enjoying being able to watch the snow sparkle in the high sun without having to shiver. Then he watched lunch take place. Gary never showed.

The way his feet danced in and out of focus while he slowly walked reminded him of the stranger. Shameful of them to leave him to figure the distant day out by himself.

* * *

It took him popping in and out of three empty rooms in Block C for Peter to figure out that he was looking for Gary. There wasn't anything really all that strange about that, he tried to comfort himself. Out of all the people jailed inside the asylum, Gary was the only one he knew by name. If anything, it would be strange to spy on one of the complete strangers. Curiously, he felt it would be unwise to leave Happy Volts all together. Perhaps he'd been dropped there for a reason.

After the fifth wrong room, he knew which one must have housed Gary, if any did at all. There were only six rooms in tact enough to have all four walls standing. The place really was miserable. A total construction zone. In fact, he had to cross a line of orange cones to even get into Block C. They hadn't been standing guard there yesterday.

The room where they locked up psycho(or was it socio?)path Gary was even more uncomfortable than the one Pete woke up in. It was considerably smaller, barely enough room for two people to lie down in. Its only furnishing was a teal mat rolled out onto the uncovered flooring. The mat reminded Petey of the ones they used to give the kids to create forts with in grade school. He almost laughed when he noticed that the walls had been protected with a squishy-looking matting like in the cartoons. Happy Volts must have housed some really violent people in its day.

Gary did nothing but lie on his mat stare at the ceiling. It wasn't a blank look either; his long brows were narrowed as he glared the ceiling down. Peter was actually okay with his not moving around much. It gave him a chance to slow down and really take everything in.

As Gary no doubt schemed in silence, Peter idly wondered how it came to this. He'd been told he tried to hang himself, but, for the life of him, had no concrete memories of doing it. Or even of buying a rope (purple, flat) or planning when to do it. Didn't energy and time go into something like that? He'd fantasized about doing something on particularly bad days, or even just during severely dull moments, but wasn't that something everyone did? A dark curiosity? He didn't think of himself as the boy to actually get up and do it. Perhaps all the strange things going on were simply a warning from God or Fates or _someone _to knock it off with the brief thoughts of suicide.

He spent the rest of the day with Gary. Twice Smith was escorted to the bathroom and he had been slipped a scentless hamburger on a Styrofoam tray once. That was really the most action that happened for long stretches. Dinner went untouched for some time. Gary was even more slender than he had been while attending Bullworth. Pete couldn't help noting how angular his hip bones were poking out in the space between the bottom of his shirt and the top of his pants. When he finally did go to eat (he didn't take a bite of the patty, but ate the entire top bun and a third of the bottom), Kowalski noted that he didn't feel hungry at all. And he hadn't needed to use the restroom all day.

"Okay, so I can always see, and I can sort of hear." Pete clapped his hands together, studying Gary for a reaction. There was none. His hands stung for a moment from the clap, which he also made mental note of. "I can feel some things?" That didn't sound right. He patted his shoulder firmly. "I can feel my own body, and I felt that headache." He sighed. What an arbitrary set of rules he was discovering, seeming only to serve in the fact to remind him that the day was off.

After his light dinner, Gary stood and faced a wall. At one point he raised an arm up from his side. An inkling of remembrance floated up into Pete as he watched Gary bring his hand close to the wall. His hands had always struck him. Long thin fingers, nearly feminine, confused him with personal knowledge of their strength. A year ago, his skin had been faultless and soft. Now petite cuts and stretched scars littered it. Briefly, he wondered what they were from. Then Gary lowered his arm again, fingers never quite touching the padding.

Unsure of exactly how long Gary went undisturbed, Pete assumed it was hours. Several times he watched the other boy's eyes having to struggle themselves back open. He wished he felt tired as well, growing restless from boredom.

When Gary's eyes fell and failed to rise again, Pete stood and walked (floated?) to the door. He probably could have simply gone through the wall, but couldn't fight the reflex to use the proper exit. Once out in the partially dilapidated hallway, he faced the question of where to go next. Luckily, he didn't have to concentrate on it long, for a familiar figure marched toward him.

"Jim?" Kowalski greeted with surprise. Hopkins didn't react of course, and Pete found himself stepping out of the king's way when he went for the lock on Gary's door. He fetched a skeleton key out from a pocket in his sagged jeans. It was strange to see someone use such an old key, and even stranger knowing they were in a medical facility.

After plenty of jiggling and a few mumbled curses that Pete could barely make out, Jimmy figured how to unlock the door. Once he retrieved the key, the bulky teenager turned the knob and violently shoved the door open. He wasn't concerned about sneaking. Pete slipped into the room after Jimmy.

"Finally solved the impossible problem of how to use a lock?" Gary asked from the floor. His eyes were still shut, his voice cocky as always. "I heard they have a whole team of MIT students working on that one."

"Shut up, Gary!" Pete jumped from the sudden volume of Hopkin's angered voice, leaving him several inches higher in the air. He let himself hang up there, off the floor, while Jimmy grabbed Gary's shirt. A rip started when he used it to pull the patient up and to his feet.

Gary's eyes narrowed and his smile widened. "Well, well, well, if it isn't big scary Jimmy? What do I owe for this audience with the fearsome king?"

Both of Jimmy's fists were being occupied in keeping the other boy up. Veins danced as the muscles in his hands clenched. He must have thought Gary ready to stand on his own, because he let go, sending Smith's legs crumbling underneath him, butt falling on the floor. Pete watched the back of Jimmy's head shake. Gary remained in a seated position.

"Why do I get the feeling that you're not concerned with the dogs picking up your fragrant scent?"

Not a word came from Jimmy.

"Let me just take a wild guess at this. It has to do with the story of how a particularly dumb fifteen year old broke into this prison and released a wrongly incarnated teen." Gary paused, continuing after no response was made. "They wouldn't want anyone in on this dirty secret, so they let you parade around here, no questions asked, all for the price of your silence. Well, that's just dandy, every boy dreams of unlimited access to the nut house. Are your dreams fulfilled now? All your hopes satisfied?" Still, Jimmy did not reply. Gary's voice fell flat with his next question. "So Jimmy Boy, are you here to beat me senseless or free me?"

"You deserve to rot in here," Jimmy finally said. Pete had expected more than the mumbled words, although they did have a fire behind them.

"Well, do whatever you'd like, just remember that I'm a free man when I hit eighteen."

One of Jim's heels lifted, as though he intended to take Gary up on that offer. He stayed in place though, lowering his head. Pete had to lower himself down again, creeping up right behind his old friend to hear him say, "Petey's dead. I just thought someone should tell you or something."

Kowalski gasped and started to choke, throat burning out of nowhere. He ruined the chance for him to hear Gary's first response, still able to take in his brows arching down for a moment. After a few beats he was able to regulate his breathing, pain in his throat disappearing again.

Jimmy turned to go back, walking right through Peter. His stopped walking, husky torso stiffening and knees locking. Pete himself hadn't felt anything other than a quick thought of distaste, but maybe Jimmy had? The king knotted up one fist and continued walking, until Gary interrupted him.

"I bet this reflects poorly on your reign," he said in an icy voice, following it up with a quick chuckle.

Jimmy whipped around, taking a step and a half back to Smith, who was smiling like a villain. He stopped himself and growled, "You better fucking hope I don't come back here again!" This only made Gary laugh more. Hopkins stormed out, slamming the door shut.

Gary kept laughing for a while when it was just the two of them in the room. Every second of it made Pete's stomach tighten and he wished that he could run. He could leave if he wanted, but it wouldn't feel like a true escape. Gary's laughter abruptly ended several moments after they could hear Jimmy pull the key from the door. Gary rose to his feet and faced the wall. Pete thought he was going to do that weird almost touching thing again, but he dashed that thought away the first time his fist slammed into the padding. Gary punched the wall five times, touches of a pinkish red appearing on the white rubbery material. Taking a quick pause, he then slammed his fist into it at least seven more times. Although Pete could not physically close his eyes against the reddening sight, he lost track of the count. When Gary's fist began to slip in his blood, he finally stopped.

Peter spent the rest of the night watching Gary lie on his back, eyes narrowed in concentration as he glared at the ceiling. Three lines from Gary's knuckles in the smeared blood on the wall also kept a wary eye on them.

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long. I have plenty of excuses, but I won't bother you with them.


End file.
